


now i'm cool, now i'm fine

by shadychild



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (not sexy language just lots of cuss words), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Domestic, Asexual Natasha Romanov, Bisexual Sam Wilson, Domestic, Drabble Collection, Explicit Language, F/M, Gen, Inspired By Tumblr, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-03 05:09:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11525208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadychild/pseuds/shadychild
Summary: Drabbles written to practice writing Sam Wilson. More pairings to come.1: Sam/Nat, when I got up this morning I found you sleeping with your face in your coffee and I’m not sure whether to perform cpr or treat your burns first





	now i'm cool, now i'm fine

**Author's Note:**

> Title bastardized from Troubleman by Marvin Gaye.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam/Nat, when I got up this morning I found you sleeping with your face in your coffee and I’m not sure whether to perform cpr or treat your burns first

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the_genderman for helping me with the wording of a sentence.

Natasha sighs and scrubs a hand through her hair as she steps out into her kitchen.

The others are probably all on the common floor, but not her. She’s got better things to do than sit around and listen to Rhodey and Steve bicker. It’s always something stupid, like _Steve you aren’t making the pancakes the right way_ , and _oh sorry Lieutenant, I don’t know how to cook unless it’s potatoes and cabbage so you’ll have to excuse me, I learned during the Great Depression_ , to which Rhodey replies, _who gives a shit Steve if you put any more sugar in my pancakes I’m taking over and banning you from the kitchen permanently_. Then Tony just _has_ to cut in, on Rhodey’s side as he will forever be, and then Sam is defending Steve, and, to put it bluntly, it’s all a big clusterfuck.

Natasha doesn’t want nor does she need clusterfuck in the morning. No, she needs calm and peace. Plus, she likes to sleep in the nude or the catsuit, or very occasionally in a stolen t-shirt from one of the guys. She’s seen enough dick through threadbare boxers to last a lifetime. (Or, if she were Darcy, she’s seen Enough dick through threadbare boxers that the boys just can’t seem to Fucking Replace if it killed them to last a Lifetime.)

Anyway. Back to the point. Natasha likes to eat breakfast alone, with the rare exception of Pepper.

What she finds at her kitchen island is both not Pepper nor is it her raucous teammates.

No, it’s Sam Wilson, head down in a cup of coffee.

She stares for a moment, unsure of how to proceed. His nose seems like it’s dipping into the cup far enough she might have to give him CPR. If he needs CPR, there’s also a chance he got burnt and needs that kind of medical attention instead.

Natasha is used to making decisions -- she goes for the third option, which is staying in the doorway, and calling out, “Sam?” When that gets no response, she sharply says, “Sam!”

Sam jerks awake, rising out of his coffee like a mummy come back to life. “Wha?” he asks before promptly falling out of his seat.

Natasha crosses her arms and stares at the heap on her floor. She waits for him to right himself on his knees before asking, “do you have any burns?”

Sam stares at her, blinking hard. His eyes are bloodshot, and some part of her, deep in the recesses of her mind, thinks, oh my god he got coffee in his eyes. Before she can deal with that (because get real, she doesn’t panic), Sam says, voice rough as sandpaper, “nah. ‘M good. Jus’ got coffee up m’nose.”

“Okay….” She pauses, watches him struggle back onto her kitchen seat. It’s a high stool, red leather and all, so of course he has trouble. _It’s his own fault for sitting up there in the first place_ , she thinks, all concern gone. (Okay not gone per se, just hidden. Where no one can find it. Shut up.)

“How did you get on my floor anyway,” she says, and it’s not a question. Her floor is locked up tight and no one, not even Clint, has gotten past her many locks (both physical and digital).

Sam sighs heavily, blinks down at his coffee, stares at her. “I...can’t actually remember. Tony made me drink vodka shots with him and then...I dunno. I wake up here.” He scrunches up his nose. “Friday, how’d I get here?”

Friday answers, “Mr. Wilson, you sat outside Agent Romanov’s door for several hours opening her locks. At one point Sir asked after you and you said,” Sam voice comes through the speakers, clearly drunk, “‘don’ let Tony know shit, Friday, don’t ever repeat what ‘m doing, to _anyone,_  ‘kay?’”

Natasha blinks at the ceiling, then at Sam. Huh.

“You broke onto my floor,” she says, voice flat. She doesn’t need to repeat that no one has ever gotten past her fortifications, does she?

Sam instantly looks nervous, shrugging up his shoulders like he can hide behind them. “Sorry?”

 _And well_ , some part of her says, _isn’t that cute_. Another part of her says, _I have to have him_. _I have to know he ow he did it._

She steps into the room, and Sam’s eyes follow her figure, from her exposed collarbone down to her feet. Then his eyes meet hers and stay there.

 _Huh,_  she thinks again. Natasha isn’t interested in sex, and most of the time, relationships aren’t on her radar. But she likes Sam. They're friends, and maybe they're moving closer to more than just that. She hasn't thought about dating in a while, but for Sam, she might make an exception.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what ships you'd like to see!


End file.
